If New York is the naked city with 8 million stories then Beijing right now is a city of 15 million or so stories heavily swaddled in layers of long underwear. One of the greatest blessings for foreigners in the city is the friendliness of the residents. Beijingers, and Chinese in general, are generally very patient and helpful. If Chinese people weren’t so tolerant, and even encouraging, of my bungling attempts at Mandarin, I’d be lying in a ditch somewhere hungry and lost. The benefits of the warmth most Chinese extend towards foreigners reaches beyond the practical – Chinese people are often remarkably willing to strike up conversations and share their stories which allows us to learn a bit more about the culture we, as expats, live in but, for the most part, don’t participate in.

This morning, after a brief painful dash to catch my bus, I found myself standing across from a seated elderly Chinese man who, the minute I boarded, immediately started laughing at me. Being in my pre-caffeine period with lungs burning from my rush to the bus stop, I was certainly not in the mood to be laughed at, out loud, from a distance of about a foot and a half away. I tried to smile politely and ignore him. After all, he was a bit long in the tooth – maybe it was just Alzheimer’s.

Beijing bus

Ni de maozi hoaxiang shi cong beiji lai de. It turned out the object of his mirth was my headgear. Starting in October, Beijingers pile on layers of thermal underwear that don’t come off until April, but they seldom wear hats. I, on the other hand, forgo the long underwear and wear a large fake furry hat with ear flaps that button neatly under my chin. Chinese, and to be honest, many foreigners too, find this hat hilarious. And perhaps I’ve grown oversensitive to the reactions and too ardent in my defense of the hat’s warming abilities.

Ni de maozi hoaxiang shi cong beiji lai de - your hat looks like it’s from the North Pole. I answered in Mandarin that it was not a genuine North Pole item but that it was very warm. This delighted the man who, although he was elderly, had a lot of energy and certainly more humor than I can really appreciate at 730 in the freezing gray morning.

My hat

He followed up in English, “where are you from?”

“I’m from America,” I replied slowly and as clearly as I could with a developing head cold. It was the first thing I said to anyone all day.

“Seaduo?” he queried.

“No, not Seattle, Chicago,” I answered, which is mostly the truth, actually I’m from ‘near Chicago’.

“Ah, Chicago,” he nodded contentedly and a semi-awkward silence ensued while the bus lurched through the morning traffic.

For the next 20 minutes as the bus plodded through lights and ground its way through the usual knots of cars, buses, scooters, electric bicycles, normal bicycles, and people, we used a mix of English and Mandarin to find out more about each other.

For an elderly Chinese man, my new friend Mr. Li spoke shockingly good English. And he possessed an even rarer ability – once he nudged his own hat (it seems acceptable to wear a hat once you hit 70) up over his ears – he was able to understand my Chinese perfectly. Not an easy feat.

China Agricultural University

Turns out he’d studied and researched agriculture in the United States for many years and eventually had become a dean at the Beijing Agricultural University. Retired for some time now he was on his way to, “go buy some things.”

He’d spent time in California doing research and, as it turned out, had a brother who lived in San Francisco. Information came in bits and pieces as we alternated languages and questions and answers. As passengers shoved past me as they got off the bus the surprises kept on coming.

“Do you speak any other languages?” he queried.

I responded, as I always to do this question, with embarrassment, “no, not really.”

He grinned and nodded, he’d expected this answer. As always I lamely added, “when I was young I studied Hebrew, but now it’s pretty much all forgotten.”

“There aren’t a lot of opportunities to speak Hebrew are there?” he replied gracefully. “You should study Japanese.”

George Sr. and Barabara in China, c. 1974

“Do you speak Japanese,” I asked, suprised. He didn’t say anything but looked like a little boy with a delicious secret up his sleeve and nodded.

“You’re young and in the best years of life, you have plenty of time to learn,” he announced, “I’m 82, I will die soon.” He chuckled and pointed past the graying roof of the bus, “and go to meet my god.”

He extracted a name card from under many layers of clothing and pushed it at me one-handed in a casual, very un-Chinese way.

Not only did he have a brother in San Francisco but he also had a sister who had worked as a doctor in my near-hometown, Chicago. We touched upon the financial crisis and he told me that “Xiao Bushi” (Little Bush) had spent time in China in the mid ‘70s when his father worked as the US Chief Liaison to China and was astonished that I didn’t already know this.

“My father went to New York,” he informed me as we neared my stop.

“Yeah?” I encouraged.

“Yes,” he nodded a little, “in 1927.”

 New York, 1927

“Your father went to New York in 1927?” I asked incredulous. It’s hard enough for Chinese to get to the US in this day and age; I can’t imagine what it took in 1927. And as always when talking to older people in China, I wonder how they fared in the Cultural Revolution. I don’t know much about those times but life for a family of such educated people couldn’t have been easy.

He continued the small nods, “Yes, he went to study economics.”

We both got off the bus and, he offered his hand and a surprisingly firm grip, and we parted ways. He waited for his transfer and I hurried into the subway station. What started as an early morning annoyance – being openly ridiculed for trying to keep my ears attached – turned into an astounding conversation with a remarkable man. I don’t know if I will or not but I hope I have the presence of mind to keep in touch with him. I can learn a lot from Mr. Li and I’m glad he wanted share some of his experience with me. There are 15 million stories in this city and I’m pretty sure there’s a lot more to Mr. Li’s.

 

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